


Within The Margins

by orchids_and_lilies



Category: Free!
Genre: (No Cheating), Alternative Universe: Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Illustrator/Writer!Haruka, M/M, Off-screen Rei/Gou, Olympian!Rin, Swim Coach!Makoto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchids_and_lilies/pseuds/orchids_and_lilies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Makoto lands a soft kiss on the shocked little 'O' of Haruka's mouth — one that tastes of fireworks, and the ocean breeze, and a daunting future together in Tokyo — and it alters the course of <i>everything</i>. (Except for that one, tiny, inconsequential little thing that always seems to stay the same.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clippings

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags carefully. This is my first time writing Makoto/Haruka. I'm just experimenting. Please be gentle.

At the ripe old age of twenty-three (and a tiny little bit), Nanase Haruka is confident enough to claim that he's finally got everything he's ever wanted. _And then some._

He's got the good fortune of having a considerable amount of money in his bank account, for starters, and he's in perfect health (along with all of his _'nearest and dearest'_ ). He's just finished setting up his very own salt water aquarium — filled with a dizzying variety of tropical fish and colourful corals — next to the slightly ageing desk in his old bedroom, too, which means it's probably about time he got back to editing the rough draft of his fourth novel.

Speaking of work: Haruka is fairly certain he's recently learned how to ensure the continued happiness of his latest editor (a certain Namikawa Emiko-san, who happens to be extremely capable despite the fact that she is only a little older than he, himself, is).

This is a pretty good thing, if you were to ask him.

He's finally on speaking terms with his free-spirited parents again, too. This is classified as _'an even better thing'_ , because it'd ended up allowing him to move back into his childhood home in Iwatobi as soon as he'd graduated from university in Tokyo. Roughly six months ago, as a mater of fact. And as a lucky result, Haruka now gets to swim at Gorou's I.S.C.R. — albeit after-hours, more often than not — _every single day_.

His backyard is currently infested by a shameless clowder of semi-wild tomcats, though, all of whom are content to ignore his existence in favour of clamouring for the attention of the other occupant of Haruka's parental house.

But, then again, all of this suits Haruka just _fine_.

Really.

Because he'd woken up to a languid kiss (and a lazy fumble underneath the sheets) this morning, after all. And it'd been so slow, so utterly unhurried, and so comfortingly familiar that it'd almost seemed like a dream at first. The inside of Makoto's mouth had tasted faintly of fireworks — and the distant glow of a fleet of hand-crafted little lanterns, fearlessly bobbing and dancing atop the ocean's seemingly endless surface — the way it always seems to do whenever he makes it a point to get up early and have his way with Haruka before breakfast.

Haruka even gets to decide what they eat for dinner every single night. And he's never once had to do the dishes all by himself, either. To top things off, a brand new Family Mart has just opened its doors at the foot of the stone steps leading up to their ' **welcome home!** '-mat (which is doubtlessly going to save him a whole lot of time in the future).

The weather's been pretty forgiving, lately, too.

Kind of.

And Yamazaki hasn't shown his face in a long, long, _long_ time. This suits Haruka perfectly fine, as well, because he still gets to see Rin — adorned with the ribbons and medals he so deserves — on the screen of their television sometimes. And whenever Haruka's particularly lucky, the slightly pixelated version of his dear friend will even be smiling at the cameras in such a way that actually reaches his eyes. Haruka treasures those moments the very same way he treasures his steadily growing scrapbook-slash-databank of Rin's numerous achievements.

Rei, of all people, even occasionally comes over to help with the latter (by tirelessly offering various articles and newspaper cut-outs that Haruka hadn't been able to get his hands on himself).

There's always plenty of pictures of _other_ smiling faces all over the walls and cabinets for Haruka to look at, as well, though. Most of them are of Ren and Ran, with Nagisa coming in at a very close 2nd place. Others are of Rei and a bright-eyed Gou (the latter of which seems to have her hair pinned up in a different way in every last one of them). There's only one of Makoto and Haruka together, however, because the rest of them are all safely tucked away in neatly organised photo albums. Just like Haruka's cherished scrapbook.

Lastly, Haruka can count on receiving his daily _'Good morning!'_ -kiss  — and a matching _'Goodnight, Haru...'_ one, of course — without fail.

There's even a _'Thank you for bringing over my lunch today!'_ -kiss, too.

And a _'I just felt like it?'_ one.

None of _those_ are anything like Makoto's _'I love you!'_ -kiss, though. Except _that_ one seems to be reserved for special occasions, like lazy morning make-outs and anniversaries. All of which is probably for the best, because Makoto's rarest of kisses never fails to remind Haruka of the warm summer night on which he'd been kissed for the very first time:

Obon.

Lanterns absolutely _everywhere_.

Fireworks lighting up the sky above their heads. And plenty of stars, too.

The sound of the ocean echoing loudly in his ears (along with his own heart beating frantically in his chest). In a way that could even be felt all the way in his _toes_. The unbearable tension of their first — and immediately their last, come to think of it — real argument. His own shocked face reflected in Makoto's impossibly wide eyes. The brief scuffle (complete with gravel flying in all directions), when Makoto'd eventually made another desperate grab for his arm. A warm mouth suddenly covering his own. Teeth clashing. Followed by a stream of increasingly high-pitched apologies.

It's been almost five whole years, since that night, but Haruka still remembers everything about it very clearly. Like it was only yesterday.

Today, though, their lives are full of comfortable routines: carefully scheduled events, ingrained habits, and daily little chores. There's never any nasty surprises anymore. Just the way Haruka likes it best.

And he's loved. He's so incredibly _loved_ , and so appreciated, that he honestly doesn't know what to do with himself — and Makoto — at times. Makoto even puts up with 99.9% of his bad habits, and never makes Haruka feel guilty or ashamed about the remaining 0.01% that he simply can't turn a blind eye to. And he always seems to know how to clear up Haruka's writer's block, too.

There's just no way around it: Haruka's life is absolutely perfect. It simply doesn't get any better than this.

 

* * *

 

At exactly 12.15 PM, on a mercifully cloudy Tuesday, Haruka unceremoniously nudges the door to Makoto's office open. "Makoto," He begins, the exact same way he always does (on a weekday, anyway). "I brought lunch."

Makoto immediately looks up from the complicated-looking formula he appears to be smack in the middle of scribbling on an offensively yellow post-it note. "Haru!" He exclaims, just as warmly as he always does, and bestows Haruka with a grateful smile. "I hadn't even noticed the time at all. You're an absolute godsend."

"Busy day, then?" Haruka wonders, as attentively as he can manage (which isn't very attentively at all), and promptly loses the battle with a faint smile of his own. "I hope you feel like curry leftovers."

Makoto's smile wavers. As expected. "Leftovers? Are you _sure_ you've got time to be be running around for my sake, in that case...?" He asks, sounding irritatingly concerned — and _perceptive_ , too — about Haruka's latest deadline. "One of these days I'm not going to make it to the phone on time, you know? Namikawa-san might be a very formidable lady, but Coach Sasabe is certainly a force to be reckoned with as well. He's been trying to ask her out for weeks now!"

Haruka scoffs, and places the twin lunch packages down on Makoto's desk with a little more force than is strictly necessary. "Serves her right for trying to use you against me," He decides. "You shouldn't let her call you at work _at all_."

"You're not feeling jealous, are you?" Makoto teases, smile firmly back in place again. He's already unwrapping the fabric, peeling both of the lids off of the plastic boxes inside, and dividing the matching sets of chopsticks between them. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"If you bring that clingy airhead up in front of me one more time, I'm never bringing you lunch again," Haruka warns him, emphatically so, and smoothly slides into what he's always considered to be _his_ seat (in front of Makoto's desk). The last thing he needs is another stilted conversation about Shigino Kisumi. _Ugh_. "It's going to turn me off my food."

Makoto hums soothingly in response, then takes an appreciative bite from the leftovers Haruka'd brought him. "You'd be missing out," He tells Haruka, then, painfully earnestly. "I could swear this tastes even better than it did last night, Haru! If Namikawa-san throws in the towel, you could always become a chef instead."

Unaffected by Makoto's habitual compliments, Haruka starts in on his own lunch. "Don't you think it's a little too late for a dramatic career change like that?"

Makoto seems to ponder over the right answer for a while. And Haruka is happy to leave him to it.

They eat the rest of their lunch in a comfortable silence, legs a tangled mess underneath Makoto's desk (and conveniently hidden from view, should anyone come into the room unexpectedly). Haruka's already — somewhat reluctantly, to be honest — packing everything up when Makoto finally speaks again: "It's a whole lot more plausible than Namikawa-san and I hooking up, I think."

Haruka blinks in surprise. "Why's that?" He asks, before he can think better of it. "You'd be a better match for her than Gorou."

Makoto shoots him a strange look, at that. "You really aren't just fishing for compliments, are you?" He intuits, in a very serious tone of voice. "I never know how to respond when you say things like that, Haru..."

Startled by the unintended sting of Makoto's words, Haruka hastily looks down at his hands. "I'm sorry," He offers. Quietly, and woefully inadequately. "I shouldn't have said that."

Makoto places one warm hand down over Haruka's own (where they're tying the gathered ends of the fabric into a loose knot), and slowly tilts Haruka's chin back up with the other. "You have nothing to apologise for," He starts, almost unbearably gently. "I could've chosen my words a lot better, too. I always seem to let myself get a little too caught up in teasing you, don't I...?"

Haruka frowns, but does nothing to shake Makoto's inappropriately tender touches off. "Jealousy's not supposed to be an _attractive_ quality, Makoto."

"It looks pretty good on _you_ ," Makoto disagrees, eyes intense, in a low voice that somehow manages to speaks volumes. He regretfully lets his hand drop down to the desk, shifts his weight in his chair, and presses one of his knees more firmly into Haruka's own. Very intently, at that. "If I weren't so incredibly hopeless at making my own lunches, I'd definitely have considered ignoring your warning earlier. Nobody manages to get under your skin quite the way poor Ki — "

"Should I be beginning to worry about all the time you're spending cooped up in here with Gorou?" Haruka hurriedly interrupts, as neutrally as possible, and raises an impressed eyebrow. Despite himself. "You've never been so forward at your workplace before, Coach Tachibana."

Makoto merely laughs in response, clearly unconcerned with the prospect of getting caught playing footsie — in his office, of all places — with his childhood best friend (and _so_ much more). "That just goes to show it's never too late to make certain changes, doesn't it...?"

 

* * *

 

By the time Makoto comes home that evening, though, Haruka is beginning to feel unbearably high-strung.

He watches Makoto very closely all throughout dinner. And as a result, he ends up spending a lot more time trying to convince himself that everything is perfectly normal than anything else. Like enjoying the food in front of him. Or the conversation Makoto is fruitlessly trying to engage him in.

"That was delicious," Makoto tells him, the way he always does, when both of their plates are empty. A moment later, he completes the pattern with a soft-spoken: "I suppose I'll get started on the dishes, then. Shouldn't you be getting back to work, Haru?"

As if on cue, Haruka shakes his head. And smiles a terribly forced smile. "I'll help out."

They clean up the table in silence, as usual, and make their way into the kitchen — where Makoto soaps everything up, and Haruka dutifully rinses and dries it all off. Then they wordlessly fight a miniature battle over the driest spots on the towel they're sharing between them (to wipe their hands dry with when they're done).

Haruka is so accustomed to their painstakingly established routine, that he nearly tenses in surprise when Makoto's large frame suddenly backs him up against the counter. " _Makoto_...?" He tries, feeling irritatingly wrong-footed, and is appalled when his voice comes out unmistakably needy and brittle. His chest _aches_ , just a little bit, as well. "Is this one of those changes you were talking about, earlier?"

Makoto presses closer, ears reddening, and lets Haruka _feel_ exactly how aroused he is. "Would that be all right with you, Haru?"

 

* * *

 

They haven't had sex twice on the same day for months _._ Makoto is endearingly apologetic about the entire thing (as if there's something shameful about it). It's a startling —  but not altogether unexpected, really — contrast with his earlier bravado, back in the kitchen. And at Gorou's I.S.C.R.

"H-Haru..." He whispers, satisfyingly breathlessly, as he lets Haruka slowly ease a third finger inside. It's messy. There's way too much lubricant, to begin with. " _Please_."

Haruka doesn't know what it is exactly that he's being asked for — because Makoto so rarely uses actual words to describe what it is that he truly wants from Haruka (and doesn't _that_ sound uncomfortably familiar, when it really comes down to it?) — but he does his best to grant all of the half-pleas and unspoken wishes he's being entrusted with, either way. He takes it _slow_ , too. Just in case. It's been a good while since they'd done things this particular way around, after all.

Makoto reaches his climax first.

Haruka is so relieved that he almost misses the signs of his own impending orgasm; but _Makoto_ sees them, the way he always seems to do, and accordingly sets about holding Haruka in place with nothing more than the strength of his thighs and two purposefully crossed ankles. Soon Haruka is following him over the edge with a choked little noise (and making an even stickier mess deep inside of him).

 

* * *

 

It's 12.15 PM (again). Haruka unceremoniously nudges the door of Makoto's office open (again). "Makoto," He begins (again). "I brought lunch."

"No leftovers, this time?" Makoto guesses correctly. He's smiling an indulgent type of smile today. "Coach Sasabe's been hovering by the phone all day. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have let the news of your deadline slip."

Haruka smiles back, and takes his seat at the desk. There's nothing forced about it, this time. "No. Emiko gave me the rest of the week off," He confirms. "It _is_ curry again, though. I felt like making your favourite today."

"Is it just me, or are you trying to butter me up for something...?"

Caught in the act, Haruka can only reply truthfully: "I can't stop by tomorrow," He admits, a little regretfully. "I promised Rei I'd meet him in town as soon as I had some time to spare."

Makoto shrugs, completely unbothered. "I'll just have to make sure I get my fill today, then."

"Your fill of _what_?" Haruka wants to know (and promptly finds himself raising an eyebrow at Makoto for the second time this week).

True to form, though, Makoto ignores his question altogether. "This is _really_ good," He says instead. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to my taste-buds, Haru."

"You'd better not let your mother hear you say that."

 

* * *

 

Makoto comes home in a pensive mood. As a result, dinner's a quiet — but not _uncomfortable_ , exactly — affair.

Feeling an itch to swim, Haruka retrieves Makoto's key to the pool from the backpack in the genkan. Its owner barely looks up from his phone when Haruka pointedly holds the thing up in front of him, though. "Your loss," He decides. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Before Haruka manages to fully slide the front door shut behind himself, however, Makoto is suddenly _right there_.

And then he's leaning in to kiss Haruka's gaping mouth.

Right out in the open.

For the briefest of moments.

"Just in case I don't get to give you one later." That's all he says.

Haruka promptly shuts the door in Makoto's face (and pretends not to be able to hear the sharp bark of laughter the childish gesture earns him from the other side).

 

* * *

 

Haruka isn't surprised to discover Makoto's been waiting up for him — in their modestly-sized bed, in what used to be Haruka's parents' bedroom — when he eventually feels ready to return home.

"I put the key back where I found it," He quietly offers, for want of anything remotely better to say. Then, in the same breath, he adds: "Is this about Rin, then?"

"It usually _is_ , isn't it?" Makoto agrees, unexpectedly readily. "I got an e-mail from him earlier today. He's finally on his way back from London."

Haruka prides himself on the fact that he doesn't falter at all while changing into an old t-shirt. He chucks off his underwear, and slides in next to Makoto underneath the thin summer sheets. It's just a touch too warm, though. The air-conditioning has already been turned off. Even so, the action in itself is undeniably soothing. Familiar. Safe. _Home_. "When is he coming over?"

"He said he'd try to make it here around dinner time, I think?"

To his credit, Haruka doesn't even tense up.

It's OK.

He's _fine_.

"Any requests?"

"I bet Rin's just about dying to dig his chopsticks into your extra spicy kimchi," Makoto suggests, infuriatingly evenly, and unapologetically drags Haruka into a loose embrace. "I'll pick up a bottle of wine on my way home. D'you think a simple red one will do?"

Haruka shrugs, as well as he can with his head propped up by Makoto's shoulder. "You don't even like red wine."

Makoto isn't having any of it tonight, though. "You should _stay_ , Haru," He half-requests, half-orders. "Rin is always asking for you. He really misses you a lot, you know?"  The words, _'Just as much as you miss him...'_ and _'He's got something for you, hasn't he...?'_ remain benevolently unspoken. For now, in any case.

"I'll think about it."

It's a blatant lie, and they both know it.

 

* * *

 

"Before I forget," Rei begins, carefully fishing an envelope out of the front pocket of his briefcase before excitedly thrusting it at Haruka. "I do believe I've managed to find another one for you, Haruka-senpai. It's so recent that I had to have it printed near the station. Just before meeting you."

"Will you _ever_ stop calling me that...?" Haruka mutters, underneath his breath, but gratefully accepts the proffered item either way. He glances at its content quickly, just long enough to gauge the length of the article in question (which isn't very long at all, unfortunately), and immediately notices that it includes two full-colour images of Rin's broadly smiling face. With the navy-coloured collar of his uniform barely peeking out from behind an enormous bouquet of flowers.

It's a surprisingly lovely find, Haruka has to admit. "Nice," He comments. "It's been a while since I've seen him look so... _normal_. Thanks."

"Aren't you going to read the article?" Rei asks, smoothly ignoring both of Haruka's long-standing-complaints. The way he always does. "The report itself is fairly unremarkable, but Gou-san and Nagisa-kun liked the pictures enough to renew our joint subscription to the website they were published on. They're quite special. And there's no mention of your name, either." This time.

Still, Haruka nods. And then he finally allows himself to begin skimming the text. Right underneath Rei's encouraging gaze.

 

 

> _**HOMEWARD BOUND: MATSUOKA RIN FINALLY RETURNS TO IWATOBI.** _
> 
> _BY TAKAMURA YUMIKO — 12/08/2012_
> 
> _Matsuoka Rin, aged 22, has finally returned to more familiar soil in order to take a well-deserved break from his seemingly relentless training schedule. The handsome young swimmer was welcomed home by a large group of admirers at Narita International Airport's Terminal 1 earlier this morning, where he tirelessly handed out autographs whilst posing for pictures with a handful of particularly brave fans. After receiving quite a few requests, Matsuoka-senshu graciously agreed to retrieve the evidence of his victory at the London Olympics from a pocket of his carry-on luggage and posed for even more pictures; this time wearing his hard earned silver and bronze medals around his neck._
> 
> _Set on taking the world by storm, Matsuoka-senshu took 2nd place during his first bid ever at the 100M butterfly finals. He clocked in at an impressive 51.44, setting himself a new personal record in a tie with Yevgeny Korotyshkin from Russia. He also claimed 3rd place in the 200M butterfly (1:53.21), suffering only Michael Phelps (1:53.01) and Chad Le Clos (1:52.96) before him. Unfortunately he hasn't been able to mirror these astonishing results during his 100M and 200M freestyle races just yet; but this slightly enamoured reporter happens to think a respectable 5th and 8th place, respectively, is still quite the achievement.  
>  _
> 
> _Matsuoka-senshu, who hadn't been able to fly back along with his teammates earlier this week due to an unforeseen meeting with one of his foreign sponsors, was seen leaving the arrival hall in the company of his younger sister and an unidentified male friend. It is rumoured he will be spending the rest of the summer in his hometown. He did speak briefly to everyone present about his plans for the foreseeable future, but politely declined to make any official statements in the absence of his current coach and mentor Hirai Norimasa._

 

Underneath the pictures of Rin, it says: _**KEEPING HIS COOL: Matsuoka Rin seems to have managed to keep his feet firmly on the ground while humbly posing for curious fans and reporters alike. Next stop: Haneda Airport.**  
_

"Thank you," He repeats, because there's very little _else_ for him to say. "Rin looks really well in these." Healthy. Proud. _Happy_.

Rei makes a non-committal noise. "Aren't you going to ask if the rumours about his plans are true? He'll be arriving in Tottori soon."

Haruka shrugs, and tries not to focus on the way his reflection is peering back at him from the surface of Rei's neatly polished glasses. "I don't have to," He admits. "Makoto will tell me all about it soon enough. They're meeting up for dinner tonight."

It's Rei's turn to nod. "You're not joining them."

It's a statement. Not a question.

Haruka sighs, and guiltily averts his eyes. "I've got a meeting with my publisher to attend," He lies, surprisingly effortlessly. "I'll just have to make plans with Rin some other time."


	2. Take Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that if you greatly dislike _one_ of the ships I tagged, this fic probably isn't for you. I can't even promise there will be a clear endgame/ending. The only thing I can promise is that it isn't my intention to put _any_ ship in a bad light.

In the end, Haruka doesn't stay.

He beats a tactical retreat up the stone steps — and into the blissful silence of the perpetually welcoming shrine grounds — instead. From his vantage point at the top of the hill, he can just about make out the expression on Makoto's face as he politely invites the source of all of Haruka's troubles inside (while repeatedly apologising on Haruka's behalf, no doubt).

Even from a considerable distance, Makoto's poorly hidden unease is practically impossible to miss. And it's rivalled only by the equally palpable disappointment in Rin's posture.

Luckily, Makoto closes the front door long before Haruka's guilty conscience has a chance to stage a coup.

 

* * *

 

It's pitch black outside by the time Haruka finds himself getting dragged out of a fitful slumber (by an insistent pair of hands on his shoulders).

There's a crick in his neck.

His head feels like it weighs a ton.

And his backside is positively _tingling_.

"Makoto?" He guesses, rather hoarsely so, and blearily attempts to blink up at the owner of the two palms currently preventing him from toppling over completely. "What time is it?"

Instead of the concerned little huff Haruka is expecting to receive in response, though, a sharp intake of breath greets his question long before anything else has a chance to. "Haven't got the faintest," The dark silhouette in front of him grudgingly offers, then, in a painfully familiar drawl. One that certainly doesn't have _any_ business coming out of Makoto's mouth. At all. "I'd say it's about time for you to stop avoiding me, though."

"Rin."

The name leaves a strange taste behind on the back of Haruka's tongue, like there's something more he should be tacking onto it now that he's actually uttering it in its owner's presence for once. An honorific, perhaps. Rin-san. Matsuoka-san. Matsuoka- _senshu_.

Blissfully unaware of Haruka's inner turmoil, Rin gives Haruka's shoulders a parting squeeze before retrieving his hands (and unapologetically making himself comfortable on the exact same step Haruka'd accidentally fallen asleep on). It's a little difficult to tell in the low lighting, but Haruka is fairly certain he's wearing one of Makoto's old t-shirts. His hair's been pulled back into a messy ponytail, too, and there's a leather band around his right wrist. And his cologne smells vaguely of peppermint.

Aside from a brand new earring shyly peeking out from underneath a curtain of haphazardly gathered hair, though, Rin barely looks any different from the last time Haruka'd seen him in person. Perhaps an honorific isn't a requirement after all, then.

And Rin's next words conveniently go a long way to support that theory, too: "Your kimchi's still the best thing on this side of the hemisphere, by the way."

"Did you come all the way up here to tell me that?"

Rin shakes his head (but takes a very long time mulling over his reply). "Although there was a time when I could've done exactly _that_ , wasn't there?" He begins, eventually, voice raw and full of emotion. "But then again, you hadn't gotten into the habit of hiding out here like a coward just yet. Back then."

The tips of Haruka's ears are suddenly no longer the only parts of him that feel uncomfortably hot. His face feels like it's _on fire_. And so does his chest. "Is that what you think of me now?" He forces himself to ask, despite the fact that he'd rather lob one of his own ears off — à la Vincent van Gogh — than hear Rin finally put his disappointment into actual _words_. "You'd hardly be the only one, in that case. There's a whole club these days."

But much to Haruka's surprise, Rin merely scoffs at the very idea. "It's not like you to be so self-deprecating," He comments, instead, somehow managing to make his voice sound just as nuanced and disarming as Makoto's increasingly tired protests on the matter. "Where's all of this coming from, Haru?"

"It's no big deal," Haruka mutters, although he has to glance away from Rin's — unbearably sincere, in contrast — gaze in order to successfully get the lie out there. "You can stop channelling Makoto any time now."

Completely undaunted by Haruka's unsubtle warning, Rin steadfastly refuses to back down. Or pull any of his punches. "Makoto isn't the only one who cares about you, y'know?" He says (then promptly decides to underline his words by throwing an arm around Haruka's shoulders). "I know I'm not all that great at actually showing it, but the caring part's always been _non-negotiable_. That's why it really pisses me off whenever you treat me like a fucking leper, OK? You didn't even send me a congratulatory text this time. That's pretty cold. Even for you."

Feeling thoroughly chastised, Haruka immediately hurries to make amends. "I meant to," He insists. "You know that, don't you?"

This time, Rin replies gratifyingly quickly. "I suppose I do," He allows. "That doesn't mean it wouldn't have been nice to get a just a tiny little bit of acknowledgement from you, though. Of all fucking people, yeah...?"

Now the wind's been so effectively taken out of his sails, Haruka finds he doesn't have the energy required to keep up appearances anymore. "It's hard for me," He divulges on impulse, voice low and hushed with shame. And although it must be pretty obvious to everyone involved, it still happens to be the first time he's ever acknowledged this pesky little fact out loud. To anyone. Including _himself_. "I'm sorry."

"I'm pretty sure I get it, you know?" Rin half-sighs, half-whispers. He's pressing his side up against Haruka's a little more firmly, too, as if to soften the blow of his next words. "You've already got everything you _need_ right here. Why would you risk it all for something you're not even sure you truly _want..._?"

It's Haruka's turn to inhale sharply.

His eyes sting.

In fact, it's kind of starting to feel like _everything_ is stinging right now. "It's too late," He distantly hears himself say, then, even though he doesn't really know how truthful that statement actually is. His mind is roughly five years and 8000 km away. In Sydney. Australia. Watching the sunrise. At a slightly different Rin's side. A younger one. Without piercings. Or Olympic medals. "There's no point in dredging any of this back up now. You need to let it _go_ , Rin." Perhaps, then, Haruka will finally be able to do to the same.

True to form, though, Rin doesn't even bother to look up as he unapologetically sets about turning Haruka's entire world upside-down.

Again.

"What if I told you I'm here to offer you a re-do, though?" He asks Haruka, as casually as if he's merely making an off-handed comment about the new convenience store at the foot of the hill. Or about the gentle ocean breeze currently ruffling their hair, even. "On top of that _other_ thing I promised to do, I guess. Let's just call it a side-quest for now, OK...? I've always enjoyed a good challenge. And I'm really liking my odds this time around, too."

 

* * *

 

Rin, it quickly turns out, is going to be significantly harder to avoid now that he's back in Japan again. Especially considering Makoto has somehow managed to convince him to stay in Haruka's old bedroom for the duration of his visit.

Haruka is absolutely livid (on the inside, as Nagisa would probably say).

It doesn't help that Makoto seems to be dead-set on acting 100% unapologetic about the entire thing, either. "It's just for a couple of days," He eventually deigns to tell Haruka — in an infuriatingly unreadable tone, to top things off — when they're getting ready for bed. He keeps his voice barely above a whisper, though, ever so mindful of Rin's presence in the next room. "He needs a break from all of the reporters hanging out at his mother's place."

"Is that what he told you?"

To his credit, Makoto doesn't even attempt to come up with _another_ excuse. "It did come up at some point, I guess," He grudgingly concedes, in the end, as if he hadn't just lied to Haruka's face. And immediately got caught doing so, at that. "What are you so afraid of, Haru?"

Haruka doesn't need any time to think about it. "Losing you," He says, without bothering to moderate the volume of his voice. "And myself, too." Even more than he already has, that is.

The unsettlingly perceptive look Makoto levels him with, then, instantly sets the short little hairs on Haruka's bare arms to stand on end. And suddenly the bed they've just finished climbing into feels way too small for the three of them: Makoto, Haruka himself, and the enormous elephant making itself comfortable at their feet.

"Do you ever regret it?" Makoto quietly asks of him (once the lights and the air-conditioning have been turned off), in a shockingly direct way he hasn't dared to affect for _three whole years_. "Is that why you've been keeping him at arm's length this whole — "

" — _No_."

It's not a shout. Although it might as well have been.

Nor is it an outright _lie_.

And yet.

Makoto doesn't speak for a long time. And when he does eventually break the increasingly stifling silence between them, he only does so to give voice to the things Haruka _doesn't_ want to hear. "I think I do," He begins. Albeit very tentatively. "You've always given me way too much credit for our first kiss, you know? I wasn't being _brave_ at all. I was terrified of losing you. That's what drove me to do it. My timing couldn't have been any more selfish, either."

Haruka's vision is beginning to blur dangerously now, and all he can manage to say in response to Makoto's subdued confession is: " _Makoto_."

"Hear me out," Makoto half-begs, half-demands. "I need you to know that if I ever had the chance to do it all over again, then I'd probably still end up doing everything the exact same way. No matter how selfish my actions were that night. I could never regret _the outcome_ , Haru."

"Then why are you telling me all of this now...?!" Haruka asks, in an embarrassingly uneven (and steadily rising) tone of voice. This isn't how he'd envisioned the rest of their evening going at all. And to top things off, Makoto isn't even _trying_ to look him in the eye anymore. "I wouldn't change anything, either. I thought you already knew that."

Makoto makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat in response. In a way that's so very unlike him that it actually leaves both of them speechless for a moment. "Because I'm trying to make things _right_ , now," He eventually tries again. "I was only thinking of myself, back then. It's about time I finally started making amends, don't you think?"

"Is this — " Haruka begins, but quickly cuts himself off in favour of swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. The handful of centimetres between Makoto's body and his own are rapidly starting to feel like an entire _kilometre_. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Much to Haruka's overwhelming relief, though, Makoto pulls him in for a bone-crushingly tight embrace straight away. "Where'd _that_ even come from?" He emphatically asks the hair at the very top of Haruka's head (in an eerily accurate echo of Rin's earlier words), when he's successfully manoeuvred the majority of Haruka's torso on top of his own. "That's the second time you've completely blind-sided me like this, isn't it? Just this week alone. You're a marvel."

 _'My mother keeps calling while you're at work,'_ Haru wants to say — just a touch shy of desperately, really — but finds himself utterly unable to. What comes out instead is a muffled: "Serves you right, doesn't it?"

Thankfully, Makoto appears to be far too distracted by the heat of Haruka's breath (on the sensitive skin at the base of his neck) to press the issue any further.

 

* * *

 

Haruka wakes up with his head pillowed on Makoto's left shoulder.

As usual.

The house is blissfully quiet.

As usual.

Makoto's breathing is nice and even, and his warm exhales barely tickle the bridge of Haruka's nose.

_As usual._

But, this time, there's a set of fingers boldly making their way down the back of Haruka's underwear. In a way that certainly doesn't fit in with their Friday-morning-routine (although Haruka isn't about to complain, per se).

"Sleep well?" Makoto asks, then, in a tone of voice that suggests he knows exactly what — or perhaps more accurately: _whom_ — Haruka's been dreaming about. "I was almost starting to feel a little left out."

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort, but Haruka _does_ eventually manage to peer up at Makoto (through the lashes of one blearily opened eye). "What time 's it?"

"About half an hour before our guest is supposed to get back from his early morning work-out, I'd say...?"

"That doesn't tell me _anything_ , Makoto," Haruka dazedly tells the prickly skin between Makoto's bottom lip and chin, then leans in even closer to collect his daily _'Good morning!'_ kiss from Makoto's smiling mouth. "D'you have time to finish this?"

In favour of a verbal reply, Makoto simply eases the waistband of Haruka's underwear down a little further — until the very tip of Haruka's sleep-induced erection is peeking out from the front (which as good as immediately causes it to create a sticky mess of pre-cum on the side of Makoto's bare hip) — and purposefully eases the pad of his index finger in between the freshly exposed globes of Haruka's ass.

Swallowing down a content groan, Haruka gratefully allows his heavy eyelids to fall shut again. He makes himself more comfortable at Makoto's side. Relaxes. Lets Makoto rub tiny little circles into the furrowed skin around his opening, until he's breathing pretty heavily and getting very close to squirming for _more_.

Luckily, Makoto soon grows just as weary of teasing Haruka as Haruka is of being teased. "Can you reach the lube?"

Haruka can.

Makoto doesn't squeeze too much of it out, this time.

He does eventually mould Haruka into a different position, though. Very carefully so. And then he's — just as carefully — sliding in from behind. All the way. In one go. And the considerable weight of his body firmly presses Haruka's into the mattress, as he does so.

Deeper, deeper, and deeper.

It feels so _good_.

And when Makoto's fingers meaningfully tighten their hold on Haruka's hipbones, and he starts fucking Haruka into the bed in earnest, it only gets even better.

In the end, Haruka tumbles over the edge with a choked little whimper (which sounds suspiciously close to Makoto's name, to be honest). As usual. He comes all over the bunched up pillow Makoto had insisted on using to prop his hips up with. And he doesn't even _care._ He's too busy catching his breath, and making sure Makoto doesn't stop peppering the back of his neck and shoulders with open-mouthed kisses just yet.

He even gets what he wants, too. Or something close enough to it, anyway.

Makoto doesn't stop indulging him for a long time. Not until the movements of his hips have become far too erratic for him to keep it up any longer, anyway. And that's more than fine by Haruka.

He rather likes it that way, after all.

 

* * *

 

Haruka's halfway down the stairs (freshly clad in one of Makoto's favourite pyjama bottoms), when there's a telltale rattle at the front door.

Completely on impulse, he pauses in his tracks. Right there.

And _watches_.

Rin doesn't even notice. He slides the door shut behind himself very slowly — like he's operating under the assumption that the other occupants of the house are still asleep, even though it's got to be practically impossible for anyone to miss all of the noise Makoto's making in the bathroom — and just as quietly sets about toeing off his ridiculously expensive looking shoes. When he's done with _that_ , he places them next to Haruka's own. Very neatly.

Unsurprisingly, a post work-out Rin is an absolute mess: his fringe is plastered to his forehead, there's dark patches of sweat all over his borrowed t-shirt, and his cheeks are very flushed.

But Haruka just keeps watching. He watches as Rin runs a shaky hand across his face. And then he watches as Rin determinedly rolls his shoulders back and seems to leave whatever'd been weighing them down at the front door (in much the same way he'd left his shoes there, come to think of it).

A split-second later, of course, Rin looks up. "H-Haru...?" He immediately stutters, then, on what's got to be some pretty impressive form of auto-pilot. His cheeks flush an even brighter red. Just as instantly. "How long have you been standing there?"

"A while."

Clearly wrong-footed, Rin can't seem to stop himself from nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. "Where's Makoto?"

Haruka really wants to roll his eyes in response. Instead, he says: "Can't you hear the water running?"

Rin blinks. Then he frowns. "I thought he already took a bath last night, though."

"So?" Haruka says, somewhat hedgingly, and nudges his chin in the direction of the kitchen. He suddenly feels very worn-out. And a little sore, too. "You'll get your turn after breakfast."

It takes Rin approximately 2.04 seconds to catch on. He swallows. Visibly. And then he practically _teleports_ himself to the kitchen.

It's Haruka's turn to frown, then.

 

* * *

 

Rin insists on making breakfast. A proper Japanese-style one, to boot.

With a little coaching from Makoto, Haruka even manages to swallow his pride long enough to pay Rin a handful of — well-deserved — compliments. His efforts earn him a wobbly smile from their visibly surprised target, and two frustratingly chaste little kisses from Makoto: one on the tip of his nose, and another near the corner of his mouth.

Seemingly a little high on Haruka's rare praise, Rin soon decides to take the proverbial plunge: "So, when are the two of you going to quit pretending I'm here on a social visit?"

In spite of Haruka's rapidly rising trepidation, Makoto doesn't even flinch. Nor does he look embarrassed. "How does lunch sound...?" He suggests, then, as casually as you please. "Coach Sasabe's already written you up for lane eight between 11 o'clock and noon, right?"

"Right," Rin agrees as good as instantaneously (and in a slightly over-enunciated manner). "That works for me."

In turn, Makoto smiles at an invisible mark somewhere in the general vicinity of Haruka's right collarbone. It's undeniably _forced_. And it doesn't even reach his eyes, either. "You'll show Rin to my office, won't you?"

Outnumbered and outmanoeuvred as he is, Haruka can only send both of them a withering glare.


	3. Ceasefire

At roughly 07:19 AM, Haruka catches Makoto (not-so-covertly) glance at the clock. Again.

"You're cutting it pretty close," He feels obliged to point out, in spite of his rising displeasure with the entire situation Makoto seems to have — single-handedly, even — landed the three of them in. Some way or another. Without Haruka's knowledge. Nor his approval. "Kikuchi-san won't appreciate you showing up late for your eight o'clock appointment."

"I _am_ running a little late," Makoto agrees (on something akin to an aborted sigh), and gives the inside of Haruka's right thigh a grateful squeeze underneath the convenient cover of the table. The palm of his hand is kind of starting to feel a little clammy, though. Even through a whole layer of cotton. And he's _still_ avoiding Haruka's eyes. "Could you help Haru put the dishes in the sink while I go brush my teeth, Rin? It'll just have to wait until I get back from work, I guess."

Blissfully unaware of the havoc his mere presence is wrecking on Makoto's morning routine, Rin immediately sits up a touch straighter. "I'm pretty sure I can do you one even better," He appears to decide on the spot, then, and doesn't hesitate at all before levelling Haruka with an openly challenging leer. Unconcerned. Relaxed. Infuriatingly _confident_ , too. "Provided this stubborn idiot actually agrees to a ceasefire, that is..."

In an uncharacteristically hotheaded bid to lash out at one of Rin's unprotected shins with the heel of his dominant foot, Haruka begins to shift his weight. But Makoto is even _faster_ , and effortlessly manages to intercept the whole endeavour by applying just the right amount of pressure to Haruka's leg. As if he'd actually been expecting it. All along.

"Makoto," Haruka  — just as impulsively, to be honest  — grinds out. In revenge. And frustration. "Haven't you had about enough yet...? Quit feeling me up at the table."

It's a cheap shot. One that's far below the belt, too. He knows that.

But it _works_.

Flushing all the way up to the very tips of his ears, Makoto immediately scrambles up to beat a hasty retreat. Right into the hallway. "I swear I wasn't doing anything inappropriate, Rin!" He protests a moment later, gratifyingly wide-eyed, as he peeks out at them from behind the edge of the sliding door. "You know I'd never do something like that in front of a guest, right?! Haru, _tell_ _him_...!!"

But Haruka doesn't feel like it just yet. "He had his hand on my thigh," He tells an equally wide-eyed Rin, instead. Then he faux-consiprationally cups a hand over his mouth, leans just a little closer, and loudly adds: "All throughout breakfast."

The left corner of Rin's mouth twitches. Very faintly. "Did he, now...?" 

Out in the hallway, Makoto makes a terribly high-pitched noise. " _R-Rin,_ " He implores helplessly (as if he's already made peace with the fact that there's absolutely no point in reprimanding Haruka directly, and knows better than to needlessly extend his energy by now). "Please don't encourage him like that..."

Rin simply shrugs again. "I'm sorry, Makoto," He offers, in a manner that doesn't sound very apologetic at all. "I'm afraid this is all part and parcel of our ceasefire negotiation. You'll get used to it soon enough. Go brush your teeth already!"

Haruka's own lips curl. Feeling quite satisfied with the results of his impromptu little retaliation, he wordlessly unfolds his legs and picks himself up from his cross-legged position on the floor (in order to begin stacking all of their dirty plates and cups back onto the wooden tray Makoto's parents had given him for his birthday).

Not one to let himself be outdone so easily, Rin quickly gets up to lend him a hand. The entire table is cleared within seconds. And on their way out into the kitchen, Haruka catches Makoto — even less covertly than before, if such a feat's even _possible_ — take in their somewhat awkwardly linked arms. With a soft little smile of his own.

All's well, then.

Haruka's already been forgiven.

Probably. _  
_

 

* * *

 

Rin soaps everything up, while Haruka grudgingly rinses and dries everything off. His elbows constantly knock into Haruka's own as they attempt to move around each other at the sink, though. Quite painfully so, at that. And once they're done, the battle over the driest spots on the towel quickly becomes an all-out war.

Haruka loses.

On purpose, that is.

It's much more satisfying to simply dry his hands on the bottom of Rin's t-shirt, after all.

"It's not even _yours_ ," He calmly reminds Rin's flared nostrils, the hint of Rin's bared teeth, and the little 'V' at the centre of Rin's upper lip (because Rin's fiery gaze is far too intense for him to look at, right now). "What's the problem, Rin?"

Rin squares his shoulders. Defensively. He seems to be doing that a lot, these days. "That only makes it even _worse_ , you idiot...!"

Haruka's just about to open his mouth to fire back another retort, when a rather frazzled looking Makoto suddenly appears in the doorway. "I'm heading out," He tells the two of them, and beckons Haruka closer for what quickly turns out to be yet _another_ frustratingly chaste kiss. Rubbing apologetic little shapes into the crook of Haruka's right arm with the pad of his thumb, he quietly adds: "D'you want me to put your name down for a lane, too?"

Feeling inexplicably exposed, Haruka pulls away. Considers it. And makes a startling discovery about himself in the process. "No need," He ends up deciding, in the end. "I'll share with Rin."

He's genuinely looking forward to it, too.

A whole lot.

 

* * *

 

While Rin opts to duck into the bathroom for a quick shower, Haruka chooses to follow Makoto all the way out into the genkan.

"You've been hiding this from me for a while now, haven't you?" He asks, as mildly as possible, as soon as Makoto bends down to tie the laces of his shoes. "You were acting strange all week, too."

This time, though, Makoto _does_ flinch.

And then he nods.

Very jerkily.

"Are you very angry with me?"

Haruka doesn't know how to answer that question. "Should I be?" He returns, instead. "How much of this was _your_ idea, Makoto?"

As expected, Makoto hastily straightens up to meet Haruka's searching gaze head-on. "The lion's share of it," He admits, in the same tone of voice he'd used the night before, and just as unrepentantly curls his fingers around both of Haruka's wrists. "Although Rin's been doing most of the groundwork, I guess. For me."

Rapidly beginning to feel more than a little trapped (underneath the extremely potent combination of Makoto's firm grip and his equally unyielding regard), Haruka attempts to steel himself and barrel on as well as he can. "You talked him into it."

Makoto nods again. "It wasn't an easy task," He tells Haruka, then, as if that changes anything. Perhaps it _does_. "And neither was talking him _out_ of approaching you straight away. Once he finally did get on board, you know? I made him wait, Haru. Until after the Olympics. So try not to be too hard on him, OK?"

There's a dizzying number of things Haruka would very much _like_ to ask of Makoto, right there and then, but simply can't seem to find the necessary strength to. And what does eventually manage to come out in the end, is a painfully inadequate: "We'll talk about this later. I don't want to add even more fuel to Kikuchi-san's hypertension."

Relief floods Makoto's face, as good as instantly, and then he's pulling Haruka in — by the waist, even — for an unexpectedly bruising kiss. It tastes faintly of toothpaste. Gratitude. Love. And _hope_.

By the time they finally break apart again, Haruka isn't at all surprised to find he's standing up on his tiptoes. And he's feeling a little short of breath, too.

"Tonight," Makoto promises (in a way that does absolutely nothing to help Haruka catch his bearings), with a splayed hand on the small of Haruka's bare back. His intent is crystal clear. "I'll make it all up to you, Haru-chan. You'll see."

 

* * *

 

Without a specific deadline to meet — and Emiko's considerable ire to avoid — Haruka inevitably finds himself wandering out into the front garden. He dutifully checks on all of the plants, fills the ceramic little bowl underneath the porch with fresh water (for the friendly neighbourhood cats to enjoy), and tries to convince himself he isn't hiding from Rin. Not _anymore_ , anyway.

It doesn't work very well.

At all.

 

* * *

 

Barely half an hour later, Rin unexpectedly joins Haruka out on the porch. He's wearing another set of Makoto's old clothes. And an easy, almost impossibly broad smile.

It's a look that suits him well.

Incredibly so, even.

Feeling rather unsettled By Rin's seemingly unflappable confidence (amongst certain other things), Haruka reluctantly makes a little more room for him in the gradually disappearing shade. "Don't you have anything of your own to wear?" He asks, then, in favour of a proper greeting. Or any of the things that he probably should be asking, instead. "You've got a bunch of companies fighting for your hand in sponsorship these days, haven't you? Rumour has it you're filthy rich now."

"I'm swimming in it," Rin returns dryly, but makes himself comfortable near Haruka's haphazardly bent knees without complaint. "Is this supposed to be your way of congratulating me, by the way?"

Haruka shakes his head. As well as he can while lying down, anyway.

Much to his relief, though, Rin doesn't appear interested in pressing the issue. "At least I'm not swimming in _these_ , right?" He mutters instead, gesturing down at his borrowed shorts. "Unlike a certain someone, I — "

"What was that you were saying about a _ceasefire_ , again?" Haruka interrupts (in an involuntarily mild tone of voice). "I can't quite remember now."

True to form, Rin cheerfully retorts: "I'm sure I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Haru."

 

* * *

 

They stay out in the garden until the steadily rising sun has claimed every last inch of the porch, and the wooden beams have left a clear imprint behind on the backs of Rin's distractingly pale — and impressively hairless — thighs.

Rin keeps a considerable distance. And upholds the tentative peace, as well.

As a result, Haruka can't seem to keep a content smile from taking control over the lower half of his face.

 

* * *

 

Already missing the comfortable silence of their impromptu little garden reprieve, Haruka — somewhat churlishly, to be honest — watches Rin run the pad of a fingertip along the edge of one of the picture frames in front of him. An impeccably dressed Gou shyly smiles up at her brother from behind the glass. Her legs are crossed. There's a loving hand on her right shoulder. And a bunch of flowers in her stylishly gathered hair. She looks utterly flawless. As always.

Next to the relatively new picture of Gou (and Rei's hand), there's a slightly older shot of Makoto. And Haruka. _Together._ In formal wear. And thick scarves. For last year's bitterly cold Hatsumoude.

"You haven't put up any recent ones of me at all," He hears Rin's uncharacteristically monotonous voice comment, then, from what feels like a hundred miles away. Even though they're simply standing side by side in Haruka's old bedroom. Which has, incidentally, been doubling as Haruka's atelier-slash-office room for a couple of months now. "I have to admit: I'm kind of feeling a little wounded here, Haru."

Haruka swallows.

Looks down.

Shakes his head.

Then swallows again.

"That's because I started keeping _those_ somewhere else," He eventually manages to tell the tips of Rin's bare toes. And the vinyl carpet. "It was Rei's idea, actually."

Rin takes a step back. His feet abruptly disappear out of Haruka's field of vision. "And...?"

Haruka stubbornly keeps his gaze where it is. "I'll show you," He finds himself impulsively offering, then. In a surprisingly steady tone of voice, too. "They're all in my scrapbook."

And so he does.

He motions for Rin to make himself comfortable at the desk, then carefully retrieves one of the large albums from the cabinet underneath the aquarium and places it down in front of its subject. Just as carefully. For the very first time. Ever. And — on a complete whim, really — moves to rest his elbows on the back of the chair Rin has just taken a seat on. The impulsive action brings them close enough for his breath to ruffle Rin's hair (and for the familiar scent of his own aftershave on Rin's skin to invade practically all of his senses). 

"You're not pulling my leg here, are you...?"

It's yet another question Haruka doesn't feel capable of answering right now, so he settles for simply reaching around Rin. In order to flip the faux-leather cover wide open. "I've had a lot of help with it," He provides, instead. Very quietly. "From Rei and Gou, mostly. But Nagisa's always keeping an eye out for me, too."

Rin immediately shifts to touch the bold calligraphy on the first page.

 ** _Matsuoka Rin_** , it reads.

In Haruka's very best handwriting.

The colour of the ink, it turns out, matches the shade of Rin's hair perfectly. "I had _no idea_ ," He half-admonishes, half-praises. "You've really got to stop springing these things on me out of the blue, you asshole."

Haruka gently bats his hand out of the way. Then he takes a fortifying breath. And turns the page with a big _whoosh_. "I thought we already established that I hardly need your permission to dedicate _any_ of my books to you, Rin," He feels inexplicably compelled to point out, then. Even though it's been a good couple of months since he'd dropped that particular bombshell on his unsuspecting friend. In the form of a brief dedication. On the first page of Haruka's latest release. "And you got your revenge in London, didn't you? On international television, too. _Jerk_."

Seemingly adequately mollified (for the moment, anyway), Rin turns another page. "I wouldn't call it _revenge_ ," He mutters distractedly, eyes keenly scanning the selection of cut-outs and promotional flyers Haruka has so diligently been collecting over the years. "I'd have done it either way, y'know? Novel, or no novel." _Medal, or no medal._

Haruka suddenly finds himself needing to swallow again. "Did you bring it with you?"

Rin nods. "It's practically the only thing I brought with me last night," He quietly confirms, somewhere in between turning yet another page and running an openly self-conscious hand through his hair. His new earring catches the light as he does so. It's silver. Shaped like a shooting star, with a cluster of tiny little gem stones worked into its tail. Haruka's pretty sure it's worth more than its fairly simple appearance seems to suggest. "I'm just waiting for the right moment to give it to you, I guess."

Haruka inhales noisily. "How about now?" He asks, as lightly as he can manage. Then, for good measure, he adds: "I'll accept it as a bribe. For the benefit of our ceasefire."

In turn, Rin appears to be having quite a bit of trouble exhaling.

"Sure thing," He manages to croak. Eventually. "I'll even throw in a personalised autograph to seal our deal, OK?"

 

* * *

 

 **Matsuoka Rin ( ✓)** @ **matsurin**  2 minutes ago 

Back home! First stop: Nanase residence. I always thought I'd give my best Olympic win to my old man, but...

 **Matsuoka Rin ( ✓)** @ **matsurin** 2 minutes ago 

I'm sure he'd understand.

 **Matsuoka Rin ( ✓)** @ **matsurin** 1 minute ago 

I couldn't exactly give Haru bronze, y'know? I've wanted to be able to say, "he's going to get his own next time!" for so long!

 **Matsuoka Rin ( ✓)** @ **matsurin** 1 minute ago 

That's why bronze really won't do. Not for Haru.

 **Matsuoka Rin ( ✓)** @ **matsurin** 50 seconds ago 

Either way, I'm definitely going to kick his ass in Rio. I'll make him eat my bubbles. And then he'll earn himself his own silver medal.

 **Matsuoka Rin ( ✓)** @ **matsurin**  10 seconds ago 

I might let him return this one to me, then. Who knows...

 

* * *

 

Rin forgets to remove his arm from around Haruka's shoulders. Once he's finished snapping a series of increasingly embarrassing 'selfies' (with a terribly unimpressed Haruka), that is.

Its weight is a surprisingly welcome one, though. Unlike the uncomfortably familiar sensation of a solid medal around Haruka's neck.

"I never agreed to any of that," He protests — quite uselessly, and out of nothing more than 100% ingrained _habit_ — and quickly discovers he rather likes the way he needs to raise his voice (in order for it to be audible over the sound of a hundred notifications flooding Rin's phone). "And I'm not even wearing a t-shirt. What are you _thinking_ , Rin?"

"Those're just technicalities," Rin replies instantaneously. And maddeningly exuberantly so, too. "We both know you're going to do it. For real, this time."

Completely unmoved, Haruka simply turns his glare up a notch. "... _'both'_?"

Rin doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed of himself. Not even a tiny little bit. "Yours truly," He clarifies, without missing a single beat, and calmly indicates himself. With an enviably steady hand. "And Makoto, of course."

Haruka very nearly forgets he'd only just agreed to enter a ceasefire.

All he sees is _red_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad Rin seems to know what he's doing in this update. Because I, the author, have absolutely no clue where this is going anymore. I kind of like that, though. It's an adventure.


	4. Victory

According to the illuminated LED-display on Haruka's desktop aquarium (currently housing a trio of perfectly round little moss balls from a recent trip to Hokkaido), it's 10:13 AM.

To the left of the brightly lit marimo tank, his equally treasured scrapbook is still taking up the majority of the available space on the desk. And right at the very centre of its opened pages, Rin's — although it's technically _Haruka's_ now, as well, he supposes — shiny medal unabashedly attempts to steal the show.

It's huge. For an Olympic medal, at least.

Rei'd gone through great pains in order to inform Haruka of absolutely _everything_ there is to know about its design. With its 8,5cm diameter (and 0,7cm width), it's nearly twice the size of the ones that had been given out in Beijing. Despite its considerable size, and the fact that it's made out of 92,5% silver, it's actually not worth much more than ¥27,000 in raw value. It weighs 400 grams. It's got a deep purple ribbon. And on the back, there's a stylised image of the River Thames; which looks a little more like a misshapen squiggle than an _iconic river_ , truth be told.

The front is far more impressive: it shows the Greek goddess of victory, the beautiful Nike, leaving the Panathenaic Stadium in Athens to visit the Olympic host city. Her wings are undeniably spectacular. It's a _very_ nice detail. Really.

Even so, Haruka's gaze keeps getting drawn back down to the bed. And to its single occupant. _Rin_.

"Looks like jet-lag finally managed to catch up with you," He marvels, as sympathetically as possible, from his perch on the chair. All the while risking yet another quick glance at the twin little shadows Rin's impossibly long eyelashes are currently casting on his cheeks. And then he promptly gets distracted by the way the corners of Rin's lips curl upwards in response to the sound of his voice. "D'you want me to call Makoto and have him cancel your lane? Missing one session isn't going to kill you. You're clearly not in it for the _medals_ , anyway."

True to form, Rin doesn't even consider it. Nor does he open his eyes. "And pass on a truly perfect opportunity to wipe Sasabe's floor with you?" He drawls, instead. Very lazily. Yet admirably coherently. For someone who appears just about ready to _pass out_. "No fucking way, Nanase. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Don't call me that," Haruka automatically protests. "It's _'Haru'_."

Completely unfazed by his host's rising volume (and ire), Rin blindly reaches out to curl the fingers of his right hand around Haruka's nearest wrist. It takes him three attempts to successfully locate his target. And he only manages it, in the end, because Haruka decides to meet him halfway. "Is that really what you're choosing to take issue with, here...?"

Haruka doesn't bother with any further admonishments. "I know your practice results," He opts to tell Rin, instead. Because he _does_. Both the freestyle _and_ the butterfly times. And he hadn't even needed Rei to tell him about them. "And I also know my own personal best."

"That'd make two of us, then," Rin instantly admits in return. Just as freely. And then, in an undeniably fond tone of voice, he continues: "It's 49.13 these days, right? Versus my average of 48.70-something."

"Is there anything Makoto _hasn't_ told you about yet?" Haruka asks, in favour of pointing out how very much aware he is of the fact that Rin's palms had actually managed to hit the wall at a dizzying 47.85. Less than a fortnight ago. At the Olympics. In London. "I bet you even know all about my latest manuscript. And my publishing contract, too."

Rin nods.

Then he softly squeezes Haruka's wrist. Right at the pulse point.

And _backs off_.

"Ceasefire," He reminds Haruka, then, in the exact same tone he'd used a moment prior. His eyes remain firmly shut, though. As if he can somehow _sense_ Haruka's roaming gaze hasn't quite finished its furtive exploration yet. "Shouldn't we be heading out soon, anyway? We can discuss all the pesky little details once we get there. Do try not to worry your pretty little head over it too much, _Haru_."

 

* * *

 

Gorou doesn't even bat a single eyelash when Rin arrives — wearing a pair of designer sunglasses, and a surprisingly nondescript baseball cap, at that  — for his morning session.

_Late._

By nine minutes, to be exact.

And with a thunderously frowning Haruka in tow.

 

* * *

 

Rin trades the baseball cap for one of Makoto's I.S.C.R.-logo bearing swim caps. And the fancy sunglasses for Makoto's favourite pair of goggles.

Unsurprisingly, 'Matsuoka-senshu' approaches the starting blocks just as confidently as any of Gorou's regular customers would. Or Gorou himself, even. Haruka lags behind to greet some of the _actual_ regulars (with a brisk little nod of his head). As well as stall for some much needed time.

"You're not chickening out on me, are you...?" Rin teases, as soon as he notices Haruka's absence at his heels, with an uncharacteristically soft little smile. "C'mon, Haru. Lane seven's _wide open_. Quit dragging your feet and go claim it. Before someone else does, yeah?"

Haruka's earlier frown immediately makes a reappearance. "Do you _want_ to get recognised again?" He hisses. "Keep your voice down. Idiot."

Rin's smile only broadens in response. Of course. " _Feisty_...!" He cheerfully retorts (even louder than before). "You're not planning on going down without a fight, eh? Good. I like that in an opponent. It looks like your transfiguration into a complete and utter housewife isn't as irreversible as I'd feared."

"Who's calling it?" Haruka wants to know, then, in favour of giving Rin even more ammunition to work with. He's not a _housewife_. He just happens to get most of his work done at his _house_. That's all. "Makoto's usually in his — "

"You remember Mikoshiba Seijuurou, don't you?" Rin smoothly interrupts. His smile has suddenly turned very _sly_. "He came in fourth in the 100M backstroke in London. Right after the one and only Irie, y'know? They were practically neck-and-neck the entire time. I suspect he'd have done even better in the 200M, but Coach Hirai wouldn't let him swim it. Good call, too. It's not exactly a coincidence he's been waiting for us all the way _over there_ , yeah? Let's keep that particular little detail between you and me, though. The press hasn't even caught a whiff of it yet."

Frown deepening, Haruka curiously follows Rin's gaze to the vaguely familiar looking figure seated on one of the benches near the lifeguard station. He's build like a closet. A very tall one. In a tiny little Speedo. "You're _not_ serious."

"He owes me a huge favour," Rin explains (in a way that doesn't explain anything at all). And then: "Just get your ass up on #7, OK? We'll meet you there in a minute."

 

* * *

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Haruka manages to catch a brief glimpse of Rin's pre-race traditions: the every-present game face, the harsh snap of his goggles (now that he doesn't need to wear his sponsored cap over the rubber band anymore), and the equally severe exhale as he moves his body into a slingshot position.

Directly behind him, Mikoshiba pointedly clears his throat. The guy isn't even _trying_ to hide the stopwatch in the palm of his right hand, either. "Right, then," He begins. "Freestyle. One hundred meters. You guys ready for it?"

No.

Haruka _isn't_.

Fortunately, instinct takes over before long. His breathing gradually evens out. And a muscle in his thigh twitches noticeably after he settles into a more pronounced crouch.

"Set."

Instead of leaning back even further —  just like Rin, come to think of it — Haruka shifts all of his weight onto the very front of the starting block. The way Gorou had taught him to do. Not all that long ago.

Then, he waits.

"Go!"

And dives.

 

* * *

 

As expected, Haruka doesn't even stand a chance.

Not anymore.

Or, perhaps, more accurately: _not_ _yet_.

His eyes meet Rin's across the bright red section of the lane divider (on which he ends up needing to lean most of his weight for support). He's breathing very heavily. And he doesn't dare take his goggles off yet.

Over in lane eight, Rin looks completely unaffected.

He's still smiling, too.

It looks so _easy_ on him.

"What're you so happy about?" Haruka half-pleads, half-demands. His skin feels a couple of sizes too small. And his chest is _burning_. "I couldn't even give you a proper chase."

Rin's smile doesn't waver. "I know," He agrees. Easily enough. "Isn't it _frustrating_?"

For a split-second, Haruka feels roughly twelve years old again. At a very different pool. In a very different town. Laying eyes upon this very same Matsuoka Rin. For the very first time. Even though he'd actually _won_. That time.

And then Mikoshiba abruptly breaks the spell. "What the heck are the two of you even moaning about...?!" He practically shouts down at them. His eyes are as wide as saucers. And he's gesticulating very wildly. "Your _novelist_ just clocked in at 48.14, Rin! If this had been an official meet, you'd have both earned yourselves a lovely little holiday to Rio. And _I_ still intend to grab one of those tickets for myself, all right? So don't go gettin' all cocky on me just yet!"


	5. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I've avoided addressing the miniature tag war in the comment section up until now, but I really want to put this out there. We're five chapters in, now, and it should be becoming pretty obvious that Haruka is (unconsciously) harbouring some kind of feelings for both Rin and Makoto. _Current_ feelings. Not "past", or "future". Just like in canon, they've always been equally important to Haruka. And that isn't going to change.
> 
> Should Haruka never act on his attraction to Rin, though, that doesn't mean it isn't _there_. It's very, very, very real. And if he does end up choosing to pursue Rin (and Rin reciprocates), then he's still going to have lingering feelings for _Makoto_ to deal with. You can't deny these feelings just because they're not being """consummated""" any more than Haruka is capable of turning them off by flicking a magical switch. They're both valid.
> 
> Bottom line: if that kind of thing bothers you, then this story isn't for you. Please just scroll by.

A pointed inclination of Rin's head eventually sends Mikoshiba — or _'Sei-senpai'_ , as Rin had instantly switched to calling him (in an oddly layered and emotive tone of voice, too) the very second he'd mistakenly assumed Haruka's attention had wandered off far enough to miss it — on his way back to the lifeguard station.

"I'll have a closer look at Nanase-sensei's track start tomorrow!" Mikoshiba's retreating figure casually tells the two of them, over his shoulder, just before he disappears completely out of their hearing range. And with just a little too much emphasis on the honorific for its use to have been entirely accidental, to boot. "You better watch your back, Rin. He's going to be gaining on you _fast_."

Haruka pretends not to have caught _that_ little titbit, either.

 

* * *

 

Now that they've got the shallow end of the pool practically all to themselves, Rin's voice lightens considerably. "Since we completely skipped a proper warm-up, d'you mind alternating between easy and sprint laps with me until the rest of my hour's up? It seriously _pains_ me to have to admit this, but... Kicking your ass took a lot out of me. Jetlag's a real bitch, y'know?"

Haruka shrugs.

Glances at the clock.

Adjusts his goggles.

And ducks underneath the lane divider (in order to join a visibly startled Rin in lane eight). "Pyramid style?" He suggests, as soon as he resurfaces. Barely a hair's breadth away from the little dip of Rin's belly button. "Decreasing from 400M. That's forty laps in total." Or a decent 2K. Just enough to keep any attempts at conversation at bay until lunch time. Provided they tack on a proper cool-down at the end, of course.

Rin — somewhat predictably, by now — takes a hasty step back. Closer to the wall. And then he continues the rather disconcerting pattern brewing between them by immediately _surrendering_. "As long as you give me enough space to get a couple of 'fly ones in there, I honestly don't give a crap about the details. It's your call. I'll follow your lead, OK?"

No. It's not _'OK'_.

Something's definitely off.

As far as Haruka is concerned, it's slowly but surely becoming apparent that there's a chink in Rin's armour. _Somewhere_. And he's determined to locate it (along with its _source_ ). Before anyone else has a chance to do so.

Including Makoto.

"I'll set the pace," He decides, in the end, and isn't even surprised to find he no longer has to steel himself in order to successfully meet Rin's openly assessing gaze. _He_ is the one in charge of everything now. For a little while, at least. Rin had clearly said so. And it feels undeniably _good_.  "We'll turn on opposite sides of the pool. And meet each other in the middle."

That's what they've _always_ done, isn't it?

Right here. In the water.

And out of it, too.

 

* * *

 

Once they've adequately rinsed themselves off (underneath the rather temperamental spray of I.S.C.R.'s tower-style showers), Haruka wordlessly guides Rin back towards staff's private changeroom.

They're both dragging their feet, now.

And  — just like the addictive high Haruka'd experienced in the pool  — Mikoshiba is long gone.

 

* * *

 

One hand braced against the wall for balance, Rin slips out of Makoto's spare swimsuit as graciously as he'd allowed Haruka to wrap himself into an involuntarily contemplative silence. And much to Haruka's equally uncontrolled relief, he doesn't appear to be all that interested in calling attention to the finger-shaped bruises on Haruka's hipbones. Nor the faint little marks on the back of Haruka's neck and shoulders.

Even though, by now, he's undoubtedly figured out just how — and, perhaps even more importantly, _when_ — they got there. And what their unprecedented appearance most likely signifies, as well.

For Haruka. For Makoto. And for Rin, himself.

With an uncomfortably heavy heart, Haruka acknowledges the rather uncharacteristic discretion with a grateful nod of his head. He's got more than enough on his plate at the moment, as it is. He doesn't want to see his parents' growing apprehension (and well-intentioned concern) mirrored in Rin's eyes. On top of everything else.

No.

Not yet.

Not any time soon.

Not _ever_.

 

* * *

 

At exactly 12:15 PM, Haruka smoothly nudges the door of Makoto's office open. "Makoto," He begins, then, the exact same way he always does on a weekday. "I brought lunch."

Except, this time, he grudgingly adds: " _And Rin_."

Makoto immediately bestows him — and Rin (by proxy) — with a particularly heart-stopping smile. One that looks just as warm and inviting as it always does. "Haru!" He exclaims, in a comfortingly accurate imitation of his usual greeting. As if nothing's out of the ordinary at all. And perhaps, for _him_ , there really isn't. Aside from the extra set of foldable chairs he'd set up in front of his desk today, that is. "Fresh-from-the-pool really is my absolute favourite look on you, you know? I can already tell I'm going to be at a significant disadvantage here. Please go easy on me today, all right?"

"Can't you even wait until after I've shut the door...?" Haruka retorts. In a rather fruitless bid to ward off an answering smile of his own. "Remind me to have a word with Gorou later. A strong one. Before you start using his awful pick-up lines on me." And Makoto'd only become a full-time staff member at I.S.C.R. a handful of months ago, too. It's just going to get even _worse,_ isn't it?

Makoto wisely chooses to ignore Haruka's habitual complaint in favour of addressing a thoroughly entertained looking Rin, instead. "Have a seat wherever you like," He half-offers, half-orders. In that slightly charged tone of voice he tends to reserve for private moments. Private moments with _Haruka_. "I've taken the liberty of appropriating a couple of chairs from one of the meeting rooms. For the occasion."

To make matters even worse, Rin ends up choosing to make himself comfortable on the seat directly in front of Makoto's desk.

In _Haruka's_ usual spot.

And then, instead of inquiring who the mysterious fourth chair in the room is supposed to be for, Rin asks: "Does that mean you've already skimmed the mock-ups I forwarded to your work account this morning, Makoto?"

Left with very little choice in the matter, a deeply scowling Haruka sullenly claims the seat on Rin's left side. "Don't you think Makoto's already taken more than enough _liberties_ today, Rin?" He mutters, underneath his breath (and a little more sharply than he'd actually intended, too), as he pointedly slides his chair further away from the desk. And Rin's rapidly hardening eyes. "You're the one who wanted to talk business, aren't you? Go on. Talk business, then. With _me_."

Now he's been given a little more — _physical_ — elbow room, though, Rin is no longer showing any qualms about digging his heels in. He's clearly got the upper hand again. Along with Makoto's proverbial hand at his back. And he _knows_ it, too.

"This isn't the way I wanted to go about all of this either, OK?" He practically grinds out. Between tightly clenched teeth. At Haruka. And at _Makoto_ , as well. "You know my style, Haru: if it were up to me, I'd have already dragged your ungrateful ass back onto a motherfucking plane by now. And we all know how well _that_ particular set-up worked out for me last time, don't we?"

Makoto's mouth opens. Then closes again.

Spurred on by the lacklustre response, Rin continues: "I'm putting just about everything I've got on the line here," He tells them, then, very grimly. And much to Haruka's steadily building unease, he seems to directing most of his rising temper inwards. Towards himself. "And if what it takes to prevent my pathetic sham of a career from ending in Barcelona really does turn out to be _complete fucking transparency_ , then so be it. I'll accept nothing less. From myself. And from the two of you." And then, seemingly for good measure, he adds: "I'll even have a go at it first, too. Set a good example, y'know? If I absolutely _have_ to."

Haruka's hands involuntarily tighten their grip on the stack of lunch boxes in his lap. "What are you talking about, Rin?"

In sharp contrast to Makoto's visibly wavering fortitude, Rin instantly swivels his head around to meet Haruka's eyes. Head-on. Without flinching. " _That_ 's exactly what I'm talking about," He hisses. "Right there, Haru."

"I don't — "

But Rin isn't done yet. "There's no way you haven't caught on yet," He insists, with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils, in a completely flat tone of voice that effortlessly seems to flip the contents of Haruka's stomach upside down. "It's pretty fucking _obvious_ , I'd say. Just how miserable I am these days. It's all in that neat little scrapbook of yours, isn't it? And yet, you've still got the _nerve_ to — "

"Rin," Makoto interrupts. Apologetically. Softly. _Finally_. "It's better for everyone involved if _I_   finish that sentence for you, don't you think...?"

In his blind haste to get up — and far away — Haruka accidentally tips over the chair he'd been sitting on. Its wooden back lands on the floor behind him with a rather satisfyingly loud _thunk_. " _Makoto_ ," He distantly hears himself warn. In the midst of the resulting clatter. And in that icy, borderline-cruel tone of voice he's only ever used on Makoto once before (back when he'd said horrible things like _'Is that really something you can find just by looking for it?'_ and _'Stop going on about other people's futures when you haven't even decided on your own yet!'_ , and had inadvertently driven Makoto to the very limit of his self-restraint). "Stay out of this."

Makoto's face pales. Instantly. He's undoubtedly remembering it, too

The way they'd ended up shouting at each other. For the very first (and last) time. And the rather explosive finale.

And yet.

 _And yet_...

"And yet, you've still got the nerve to pretend you aren't just as unhappy with the way things are," He inevitably concludes, then, without a single trace of his earlier apologetic demeanour. "To not only _yourself_ , Haru-chan. But to everyone around you, too. Including me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are definitely heating up now!
> 
> By the way, 400M "pyramid style" is only good for 36 laps. Or 1800M. That's why Haruka is mentally tacking on a 200M cool-down to round it up to a nice 2K. I _can_ do maths, I promise. (Aaaaand I can also explain the Japanese honorifics used in this story, if needed!)
> 
> P.S. There's one line in this chapter that _could_ be interpreted as a hint of domestic abuse, if you missed the "unprecedented" part in the description of Haruka's bruises. While I don't want to give everything away yet, I really want to stress this: _**no**_ , Haruka's parents aren't concerned for Haruka's physical safety. They know Makoto would never hurt a fly (and Rin, for his part, knows that too). Their disapproval of Makoto's relationship with their son stems from a completely different source, OK? OK.


End file.
